The Brief Aftermath
by The Anonymite
Summary: Post-WIGYA, head-canon'd up like whoa.  Kurt is sniffly and sadface, and Blaine is just that much of a dork.  Why else would he plaster his dapper hair down like that?


**Disclaimer:** I do not own Glee.

**a/n:** If you haven't seen the leaked video of _When I Get You Alone_, you will likely not know what's going on. I would suggest Youtubin' it up and fixing that problem of yours quickly. It will break your little Klaine-y heart. Also, I'm sorry this is terrible, but I had fun writing it, so deal with it. Looove~

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"Serves you right for hoping," Kurt said to his reflection, hands braced on the counter as he leaned towards the mirror. He blinked several times, a few tears shaking themselves loose of his lashes, rolling down his cheeks until he scoffed and folded back into himself.

"You'd think I'd have learned by now," he muttered to himself, wiping his face dry with the sleeve of his blazer. He tried to deny the sniffle that dearly wanted to happen, but when your nose is running, not sniffing is not an option.

"Kurt?"

He tensed, glad that he had his back to the bathroom entrance. As they stood, Wes couldn't see how red his eyes were or the crying-induced flush in his face and lips.

"Sorry, I got distracted," he said, glancing over his shoulder just enough to shoot an insincere but well-choreographed smile in Wes' direction. "I'll be out in a second."

Wes frowned, wondering what Kurt could have gotten distracted by in a mall bathroom, but left him to it anyway with a parting quip that had Kurt glaring, and a warning to be with them when they left, because Blaine wasn't too keen on hanging around.

Kurt snorted derisively, pulling the last paper towel from the dispenser, glad that Blaine had managed to not totally ransack the bathroom in his panicked search for absorbent paper products.

_Yeah, well, he did just make a total ass of himself. I'd want to leave, too_, he thought, turning to peer at himself again in the mirror. He didn't look as messy as he could have. If anyone asked about the redness in his eyes, he could blame it on allergies.

"Oh, I don't want to go back out there," he said, pressing his forehead to the cool glass, eyes squeezed shut. He just wanted to go home, honestly, to get as far away from Blaine Anderson and this whole horrible situation as soon as possible. He wanted to sit down with some loud Patti Lapone and drown his sorrows in ice cream and Vogue and possibly dinner with Mercedes where he could adequately express his frustration, because honestly, it wasn't nearly as dumb to get your hopes up for a gay guy as it was to get your hopes up for, say, Finn, so this wasn't really entirely his fault, was it?

Oh Hell, of course it was. _Everything_ was his fault, including, but not limited to, global warming, seal clubbing, and Sarah Palin. He might as well just accept that he was the antichrist and get on with his tragic, lonely life.

"Kurt, c'mon man, we're gonna leave you. Blaine's gonna die of blood loss in a second here," Wes called, making Kurt jump and groan when he hit his elbow on the counter.

Feeling glum and holding his now bruised elbow morosely, he shuffled out of the bathroom, fielding David's sympathetic glances with pointed glares. It didn't help anything that the other boy had discovered Kurt's looming, painful crush on Blaine less than three hours before. Kurt honestly didn't want his sympathy—this was all just incredibly stupid, and he wanted to go home.

"Oh thank God," Blaine said when he saw Kurt, loosing a sigh of relief and nearly jumping to his feet. He was pinching the bridge of his nose and looking pained, bits of paper towel sticking out of his nostrils. In some dark place of his soul, Kurt felt vindicated by the unattractiveness of Blaine's situation—stuck in the mall post-rejection, with a humiliation-induced nosebleed while his friend refused to leave the bathroom and, being burdened with such a magnanimous soul, deciding to wait for said friend to finish up whatever the Hell he was doing in there. The lingering look of mortification on the dark-haired boy's face helped Kurt to smile darkly, eyeing Blaine as he picked his bag off the floor where he had dropped it. It honestly looked as though Blaine had only realized the magnitude of his actions after the fact, which made Kurt wonder if Blaine tended to operate on the assumption that waltzing into department stores and singing loud, impassioned songs to unsuspecting clerks was a good idea. It was entirely possible that the whole debacle was just a serious lapse in judgment—which, undoubtedly, it was, because he hadn't even known whether the guy was gay or not, which was frequently a recipe for disaster.

Kurt rolled his eyes at the whole thing and brushed his bangs back with a flourish, leading the retreat out of the mall in the most understated huff he could manage. He didn't particularly want questions asked, but it was impossible for him not to swish his hips a little pissily as he let the door slip from his fingers and slam shut in Blaine's bloodied, agonized face.

_Ah, revenge_, he thought, listening to Blaine sigh desolately as he pushed the door open for himself. _How sweet you will be. Or something like that._


End file.
